


Alone Together

by Nekoluver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekoluver/pseuds/Nekoluver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was gone, Cas had disappeared, and Dean spent his time drowning his sorrows in musty hotel rooms alone. Everything felt so dank and lifeless. There was no point in fighting anymore; if the universe was so determined to end that wasn’t his problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want you guys to think I am in any way glamorizing or pardoning suicide. I wrote this fic when I was in a bit of a dark place to vent some pretty terrible feelings. If you are feeling this way, please, please get help, because suicide is never the answer. 
> 
> US National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1 (800) 273-8255  
> [International Suicide Prevention Hotlines](http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html)  
> [Other Numbers](http://positive-i-tea.tumblr.com/post/128482843409/dont-ever-hesitate-reblog-this-tumblr-rule)  
> [Resources](http://positive-i-tea.tumblr.com/tagged/resources)

A lifetime ago the angel Zachariah thrust Dean Winchester into a possible future in an attempt to force the hunter to adhere to heaven’s plans. Of course it hadn’t had the desired effect of forced compliance, but it was terrifying all the same. It wasn’t the Croatoan virus or even the fact the Sam of that reality had said yes to Lucifer. No, that was a reality Dean had been anticipating all along- it wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was hard to truly fear something you were expecting. True fear was the appalling creature that future’s Dean had become. He was cold and ruthless- he had to be to keep the camp alive. Even surrounded by people, the Endverse version of Dean was utterly alone.

The real Dean fought with everything had had to keep that future from becoming a reality. In the end they’d stopped Lucifer, thwarted the apocalypse, and went on to fight other battles. He still had Sammy by his side then, but they weren’t exactly functional. They’d lived too long on secrets and deceit to ever have a fully healthy relationship; forcing themselves to stick together based on a sense of familial duty their father had forcefully instilled in them. Eventually they started to drift apart, and each time they fought to regain that sense of brotherhood they caused unimaginable chaos and destruction. It would be the Winchester brothers against the world even if they had to be the ones creating the battles. After all, when the Winchesters fucked something up they didn’t do it half-assed.

Dean used to enjoy hunting. He used to get a thrill, a sense of pride- it used to be so natural and simple. At some point that passion faded away, maybe around the same time it stopped feeling like “the family business”. There came a point when Dean no longer knew what he was fighting for, simply going through the emotions and fighting the forces of evil simply because he knew he _should_. It was all he’d ever _known_ , but it was exhausting.

In the end he was alone, just like in Endverse only more pathetic. Sam was gone, Cas had disappeared, and Dean spent his time drowning his sorrows in musty hotel rooms alone. Everything felt so dank and lifeless. There was no point in fighting anymore; if the universe was so determined to end that wasn’t his problem.  Honestly, at this point the torture he’d suffered in hell might be a mercy.

Not that he truly meant that.

Maybe it was just the alcohol talking.

It was definitely the alcohol talking. He sat up with a groan, his vision spinning as he blearily took in the disarray of the room. Clothes were strewn about, empty bottles littered the floor, there was an old cheeseburger rotting away on the table- When was the last time he ate? He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, immediately regretting it for the pain it caused. He decided it didn’t matter.

He was so, so tired.

He half-crawled, half-stumbled his way over to his duffle bag, collapsing back onto the floor once his fingers found the pill bottle. He couldn’t remember where he got them now, hold old they were, how many he was supposed to take… But they were supposed to help him sleep.

He was just so _tired_.

A handful of sleeping pills followed by half a bottle of cheap whiskey probably wasn’t a good combination. He felt sick. The room was spinning again. His stomach hurt, his chest hurt, his head hurt.

Maybe he should write a note, not that there’d be anyone around to read it.

It wasn’t a pleasant way to die, but it sure beat being torn apart by hellhounds.

The _Inferno_ talked about those who committed suicide ending up in some sort of creepy forest, but when he woke up he definitely wasn’t in hell. He knew hell, the real hell, not Dante’s artistic vision. This wasn’t hell. It wasn’t purgatory or heaven or any place he knew of. It was gray- gray, dull, lifeless. Basically it was the physical embodiment of the emotions he had been trying so hard to escape.

Spiraling into a pit of despair, he almost missed the fluttering of wings and the weight of a once familiar gaze at his back. He spun around, eyes wide and disbelieving. It hurt to open his eyes so wide, his voice cracked from so many weeks of disuse (or maybe it was the damage he’d done to his esophagus?) “ _Cas_?”

The silence between them was impregnable as they took a moment to stare into one another’s eyes. Castiel’s expression was unreadable, and Dean wanted to feel guilty. Or maybe he wanted to feel angry, but he was just so tired. He was still so tired, and Cas was just staring at him and everything was gray and broken. Dean’s eyes were downcast when strong arms came up to wrap around him. His breath caught in his throat as colors exploded all around them. He was clinging to Cas’ familiar trench coat at this point, overwhelmed. It was too much, too soon. He felt like crying, he felt like exploding, and he just couldn’t _handle this_.

With a startling snap two, beautifully dark wings unfurled from Castiel’s shoulders to fold around them. The inner feathers were soft and warm, and wrapped around him like a shadow. They were so dark they soaked up all of the brightness, but if he snuck a peek of the outside feathers, he could see them refracting the light. The room was filled with sparkling, glittering rainbows, but he didn’t have to see them. If he stayed within this little cocoon he’d never have to see them. Within Cas’ wings he felt warm and safe. His breath caught in his throat- it’d been so long since he’d felt _safe_.

He pulled Castiel closer, fisting his hands in the trench coat and burying his nose in the angel’s hair. “ ** _Cas_** …” It was practically a sob this time. There was so much unspoken between them, but in that moment it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to fight, he didn’t have to put up false pretenses or feign strength he’d never really had. He was _free_.

“ _Dean_ ,” he said it in the way he always had, with a reverence the other man had never felt deserving of. He certainly didn’t deserve it now, but none of that mattered anymore. “Dean, rest.”

Maybe this was the angel Castiel’s role all along. Maybe all the hurt and lies and terrible choices didn’t matter. Maybe the time lost was insignificant. Maybe it was fate or destiny, and they were always meant to end up here. As his eyes fluttered shut he realized in a vague sense that he’d finally found peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe. Ending things is not the answer.


End file.
